


In the Absence of Light

by Penthesilea1623



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: A Happy Accident AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, evil Anabel, just so you know, the last chapter will be pretty much nothing but unrepentant and fairly graphic sex, unreformed Sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:31:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like A Happy Accident, this started out with a question on tumblr.  Berlinaaa asked whether I could ever write Annie/Anabel from A Happy Accident as evil.  My first reaction was no that could never happen.  I mean what circumstances could cause that? And even if that did happen, there's no way Sebastian would be attracted to evil Anabel.</p><p>Unless he were evil as well.  </p><p>So here you have it, An Anabel who was orphaned at a young age and raised in by her ruthless bastard of a grandfather, Aristide, to be everything he wanted in an heir, and a Sebastian whose parents were so appalled by his behavior that they disowned him, but he made the decision not to bother reforming; he was having a perfectly good time just as he was. </p><p>The title comes from the Chant of Light, Threnodies 8:21 "In the absence of light, shadows thrive."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> Sebastian Vael has heard many things about Anabel Amell-Hawke, but he's never met her. 
> 
> He's decided it's high time he did.

_“In the absence of light, shadows thrive.” Threnodies 8:21_

 

Sebastian Vael, prince, and now undisputed ruler of Starkhaven stood at the railing of the balcony overlooking the ballroom, waiting. 

He didn’t mind waiting. He wasn’t bored. He felt no impatience. 

He’d waited almost fourteen years to take the throne, after all. Most things worth having were worth waiting for. Not all, of course, but most. 

He wondered idly if it would be true in this particular instance.

Someone entered the alcove behind him, and he didn’t need to turn to know who it was. 

“Her car’s just pulled up.” Nathaniel told him as he came to stand at his side. 

Sebastian glanced over at him. “Your bow tie wants straightening.”

Nathaniel scowled, but adjusted his tie. Sebastian let the scowl and the less than perfect presentation pass because Nathaniel was that good at his job. 

They’d been at University together when Sebastian’s parents had disowned him. Nathaniel, who had his own difficulties with his father, had accepted his friend’s invitation to leave school and accompany him on his exile and the arrangement had proven beneficial to them both over the years. More so to Sebastian, of course, but that was the way the world worked: there were leaders and there were followers and there was no question of who played which role in his relationship with Nathaniel Howe.

They’d been teenagers still, the both of them, cut off without the proverbial copper or so their parents had thought. It was true for Nathaniel, but what the ruling Prince and Princess of Starkhaven had failed to realize about their son was that Sebastian wasn’t quite the irresponsible wastrel they’d thought him. He’d taken the money left him in his grandfather’s will and a surprisingly large portion of the generous allowance he’d been given up to that point and had invested it over the years; some of it wisely and safely but the majority of it in risky ventures that more seasoned businessman wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole.

It was those investments that had made him his first million less than two years later, just before his twenty-first birthday. He’d continued with the strategy adding companies and real estate building them up or breaking them down as their performance warranted, and now, at the age of thirty-three had just proclaimed number five on the Merchant Guild’s annual list of Thedas’ wealthiest. 

If the Guild knew about all of his assets he would have been first on the list, but top five and Prince of Starkhaven was just fine. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

_For now._

He had plans that would take him still farther; plans that had brought him here to the Palace at Val Royeaux to what must be the sixth or seventh ball of the season. Under normal circumstances he would have avoided it, made some excuse, but there was someone he wanted to meet.

“Remind me of how she came to Kirkwall.” He said, watching the door. He’d heard the story of course, but he wanted it fresh in his mind.

“Her parents were killed in a car accident in Ferelden when she was four. They left no will and made no provision for their children. Her grandfather Aristide was the closest living relative, and so the children were sent to live with him, despite the fact he’d disowned their mother when she’d married against his wishes. He was a brutal bastard to his own children but they say from his first glimpse of her he was utterly besotted.”

“But not with the other sister or the brother?” Sebastian asked, already knowing the answer. When he’d first begun to hear of her siblings had never been mentioned. He’d honestly not even know she had a brother and sister until several months after that.

“By all accounts he barely acknowledged their existence.” Nathaniel confirmed.

Bastard indeed thought Sebastian. “Has anyone offered any explanation for that?” 

“It’s said they closely resembled his own son and daughter who had disappointed him so badly. That’s as good an explanation as I’ve ever heard.”

“What happened to the son?”

“Gamlen? He drank himself to death in Lowtown a few years after his father disinherited him in favor of the girl.”

 _Fool_ , Sebastian thought contemptuously. No doubt it was the fate his own parents had envisioned for him. “Go on.” He told Nathaniel.

“Aristide gave her everything she asked for, and a great deal more she didn’t. From the time she could read and write, he groomed her to take over his interests. He taught her everything he knew about business, about politics, about Kirkwall. Sent her to the best schools, hired the best tutors to supplement that education, and they say when she was older, he hired tutors of a different sort, to teach her to use those assets that nature had bestowed so generously upon her, and to be just as ruthless with them as with the more traditional skills she’d already learned.” 

There was a trace of bitterness in Nathaniel’s voice, just a trace, but that it was there at all… 

Sebastian turned to look at him. “And is she?” He asked. 

Nathaniel’s eyes were carefully blank when he met Sebastian’s gaze. “Oh, yes.” He said in an emotionless voice.

Sebastian looked out over the ballroom again, his eyes fixed on the doorway, waiting for her to appear.

_Impressive _, he thought.__

A few months ago he’d sent Nathaniel to Kirkwall for a fortnight, to investigate her. She’d become society’s darling: witty, charming, brilliant, they said, as well as generous, a true philanthropist. But when one looked deeper and asked the right questions of the right people (or of the wrong people, some might say) there were faint whispers, barely audible and other, darker stories. Nathaniel was to find out how many, if any, of those other stories were true. In addition he was to meet her, get to know her and to see just how far he could take that ‘knowing’. The two weeks had passed with no communication at all, and then a third. By the fourth week Sebastian had been concerned enough that he had sent people to find out what had happened; given some of the unsubstantiated yet persistent rumors that swirled about Anabel Amell-Hawke it had seemed the prudent thing to do. 

As it turned out, they’d found Nathaniel in his own apartment, surrounded by a dozen empty vodka bottles and barely able to string two sentences together. When he was finally sober all he would tell his employer was that Anabel Hawke was exactly what he was seeking, Maker help them all. 

“There.” Said Nathaniel, abruptly. “That’s her, by the top of the stairs.” 

Sebastian turned his head and spotted her instantly. 

_Sweet Andraste._

She was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that none of the photographs he’d seen of her had captured. Everyone he’d heard speak of her had said it of course. Beautiful. It was generally the first word used: _beautiful_. 

Sebastian had dismissed the claims. The word was bandied about so casually these days, and applied to women whom he would barely qualify as pretty. 

Anabel Amell-Hawke was beautiful, by anyone’s standards. 

Small, far smaller than he’d realized, and as delicate as a porcelain figurine, but there was nothing hard or cold about her, indeed she almost glowed with warmth. 

He hadn’t expected that. 

He watched as she greeted the small circle of eager guests that had appeared around her, almost hiding her from view. 

“Does her presence always produce such a frenzy?” He asked Nathaniel, without taking his eyes from her. 

“Her attendance guarantees the event will receive full press coverage: television, print and internet. Being seen with her increases the chances of rating a mention.”

Sebastian felt an unexpected flash of sympathy. She was young for this, to be at the center of all that unrelenting attention. When he was her age he’d been able to afford to be careless; in fact it had almost seemed expected of him at times. Twenty-four years old and every eye was on her – his own included. 

Of course it was hard not to watch her. 

Her hair was the first thing you noticed, every shade of red from flaming orange to dark auburn. The color was startling, and, to his surprise, childhood photos he’d obtained proved it was her natural color. She wore it, long, in defiance of current fashion, falling in loose waves to just below her shoulder blades. It contrasted starkly with her fair skin, skin so pale it looked almost translucent. There were no spray tans for Anabel Amell-Hawke, apparently, in spite of the multitude of magazine articles touting ‘a healthy glow’ as the season’s latest accessory. 

His eyes moved lower and he frowned. 

Her dress… puzzled him. 

Made of some gauzy fabric in a pale beige that had just a hint of warmth to it, it was mostly unadorned, the only embellishment some strategically placed embroidery on what appeared to be a neckline made of illusion, that flesh colored fabric designed to preserve a gown’s modesty that he’d always found vaguely irritating: either wear a low cut dress or don’t, but don’t pretend to. While the dress was pretty enough, he’d expected something more overtly sexy from her, something more revealing. 

This dress had sleeves to the wrist. The skirt was full and to the floor, and while the fabric moved beautifully, it covered her completely, not even a slit to show a glimpse of leg. It seemed positively demure and he couldn’t help but wonder at the choice. And then she came further into the room, closer to the alcove where he stood, smiling, and charming her way through those gathered around her, and as she did he became aware of details of the dress that he’d missed at first glance.

The gauzy fabric was, in fact, so sheer that it was all but transparent, and he realized that it wasn’t the beige fabric that held that hint of warmth; it was her own skin showing through it. Those long demure sleeves, cuffed so tightly at the wrist, showed her slender, pale arms as clearly as if they’d not been there at all. The skirt of the dress was made up of multiple layers of the same fabric, with no lining beneath it, and when she moved, it showed the full length of her legs – not as clearly as the sleeves showed her arms, the multiple layers of the skirt prevented that, but enough to reveal that they were surprisingly long for her height, and were slim, and well-shaped. 

When elderly Duke Germain approached her, calling out her name, she turned towards him, and coincidentally towards the balcony where Sebastian stood, and only then did he realize, to his astonishment, that the bodice of the dress was also made of a single layer of that sheer flesh colored silk gauze. What he’d thought was illusion was in fact a deep V of pale flesh extending down almost to her waist. One had to stare closely to realize how very little of her was covered by the beaded embroidery, and to stare so blatantly was a faux pas in and of itself at a gathering such as this. 

He’d been incorrect in his first assessment of the dress. It was perhaps one of the sexiest and most sensual dresses that he’d ever seen, but he could count on one hand the number of women who could pull it off. 

And he was certain that none would do it as effortlessly as Anabel Amell-Hawke currently was. 

She was holding out her hands to the Duke, looking up at him with those astonishing eyes that Sebastian couldn’t pin a color to: blue or green, he thought, or both at once, as improbable as that seemed, and gave the old man a smile so sweet and innocent and so seemingly genuine that Sebastian wondered if any of the stories he had heard could possibly be true. He found his lips curving into a smile. 

Maker, she was _lovely_. 

His reverie was broken when Nathaniel give a low huff of laughter. 

Sebastian’s smile vanished and his eyes were cold when he turned to him. “Something amuses you, Nathaniel?” 

If he’d thought to intimidate Nathaniel with his tone, he’d failed. The man was all but smirking at him. “Fascinates more than amuses.” He explained in that gravelly voice. “Given your plans for the evening, and for her, I hadn’t expected you to be pulled into her web as quite as easily as the rest of us are.” 

Sebastian kept his face expressionless, but he was annoyed – not with Nathaniel _per se_ , but with himself. Nathaniel had been correct: he had been careless. She had pulled him in, and she’d done it without even knowing he was watching her. 

_Impressive_ , he thought again and his admiration for her only increased. She would be perfect. Nathaniel had been right about that as well. 

“You’re certain she’ll slip away before dinner?” He asked. 

Nathaniel turned to look at her as well. “Not entirely certain, but it’s her usual habit to sneak off to a study or library at some point between the reception and the banquet. Our information says she favors a small study just off the library when she’s here at the Palace. It’s always deserted during these affairs.” 

“Then that’s where I’ll be.” Sebastian stepped back from the railing. “Make sure she’s watched. Come find me if it turns out you were wrong.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd posted the early portions of this story on my tumblr in a much rougher form, but I've been working on this, polishing it, and continuing it for "Hippo's Creativity Challenge" so thanks to the amazing Thieving Hippo for organizing the challenge. 
> 
> The story's only going to be 3 or 4 chapters and I'm hoping to have them all up by the end of the week. The final chapter will be pretty much pure smut. It's interesting what happens when you take away all of Sebastian and Anabel's hangups and inhibitions.


	2. A First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian meets Anabel for the first time and they both learn a great deal about each other..

Nathaniel wasn’t wrong, and Sebastian waited barely a quarter of an hour before the door to the Duke’s study opened and Anabel Amell-Hawke slipped inside.

He was standing by the mantel, an untouched tumbler of Starkhaven whiskey in his hand, and she didn’t notice him at first.

She turned and with both hands pushed the door shut almost collapsing against it, putting her cheek against the dark paneled wood. She let out a deep sigh of a breath, and turned her head so her forehead was resting against the door. 

She seemed suddenly small and young and fragile and weary, and that didn’t seem to fit anything he’d heard of her. She didn’t know he was there, so her actions must be genuine. He was about to make his presence known when she spoke.

“Blessed Andraste, why do I let myself be talked into coming to these things.” She asked softly. Her voice was low, and rich as caramel and just hearing it raised the hair on the back of his neck. No one had mentioned that voice and he couldn’t understand the oversight.

“I was just asking myself the same question.” He said quietly.

She went very still, and then as he watched she drew herself together, and by the time she’d turned around to face him she was that bright young thing he’d watched earlier in the reception hall. 

The transformation was remarkable. 

There was a flash of recognition in her eyes when she looked at him, and a slow pleased smile curved her lips. “Sebastian Vael.” She breathed his name out. “I was wondering when we would finally meet.” 

He answered her smile with one of his own and inclined his head. “Anabel Amell-Hawke. I have to confess to having the same curiosity.”

“Just Hawke.” She informed him, still smiling. “I’ve been leaving off the Amell since Grandfather died.” She looked around the study and then back to him. “Are you hiding as well? It’s a good spot for it.” Her eyes were twinkling and he realized she had a dimple just at the corner of her mouth. Had he known that? He must have but in person it was more noticeable, and added to that air of merriment and easy charm that he’d heard so much about.

The tales weren’t exaggerated. She was enchanting.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He asked. “Hiding?” 

She tilted her head seeming to give his question some thought. “More escaping than hiding, I think.” She decided. “Just for a bit. It’s a bad habit of mine at parties, I’m afraid. It used to irritate my Grandfather to no end.” 

The words were lightly spoken, but there was a glimpse of a harder truth behind them and he felt a flash of sympathy, remembering those days of trying to please parents who were rarely, if ever satisfied. “Perhaps that’s why you did it.” He suggested. “When I was younger I had a whole repertoire of activities of that sort, specifically designed to irritate my parents, or at least to get their attention.”

She laughed. “You may be right about the first part, but not the second. I received far too much of Grandfather’s attention as it was.” She gestured at his glass. “I don’t suppose there’s any more of that lurking about?”

Aristide Amell had been dead for over two years, but he still had a firm hold on his granddaughter. Unsurprising really, when you considered how he had controlled almost every aspect of her life. Despite that Sebastian had never heard any whisper of discord between them but he filed the comment away to examine it more closely at a later time. “You drink whiskey?” He asked. She’d been drinking champagne at the reception, though she’d nursed the same glass the whole time he’d been watching her, and hadn’t finished it. 

“Only if it’s good whiskey. Given your heritage I assume what’s in the glass must be.” 

“It is.” He said, moving to the sideboard that held the decanter and pouring her a glass. When he turned to give it to her, he found her standing right at his elbow. He hadn’t heard her approach. 

This close to him she seemed even tinier; even wearing heels as she was, the top of her head barely passed his shoulder. She was looking up at him, and he could confirm that he’d been right, that her eyes were in fact blue and green, not bluish-green, but sapphire and emerald, the two colors together, but quite distinct from each other. He’d never seen eyes like them. 

_A man could lose himself in eyes like those._

A warning bell sounded in his head, and Nathaniel’s words seem to echo in his head. _I hadn’t expected you to be pulled into her web quite as easily as the rest of us…_

She gave him a small mischievous smile, as if she knew what he were thinking, and without waiting for him to offer it, reached up and took the glass from his hand.

Her fingers brushed against his and he had to fight to not shiver at just that brief touch. It went straight through him like an electric shock and he glanced quickly at her, wondering if she’d felt it too, and found her staring up at him, her eyes wide. The mischievous smile had vanished. Her lips were parted and she looked suddenly uncertain and even a touch alarmed.

Oh yes, she’d felt it, and it had been as unexpected for her as it had for him. 

Unexpected but not unwelcome at all. Sebastian felt a thrill of triumph. _Perfect_. She was perfect, exactly what he’d been seeking. 

Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because she blushed suddenly, her cheeks turning a delicate pink. 

The reaction was so unexpected that he couldn’t help the delighted grin that spread across his face, which only deepened the blush. She looked down, frowning, and raising her glass to her lips took a sip. 

He took a drink of his own whiskey in an effort to hide the smile, and to give her a chance to regain her composure, feeling more in control of the situation.

When she lowered her glass she seemed perfectly at ease, though her cheeks were still pink. 

It suited her.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re much taller than I thought you’d be.” She commented.

“And you’re far smaller. And far more lovely.” He added, feeling more in control of the situation now.

It was an automatic response, the sort of compliment he would have given any young woman at a gathering such as this, and given his wealth, position and reputation most young ladies would have been pleased – more than pleased, but she made a small disappointed face. 

“Oh, we don’t really need to bother with all that, do we?” She asked. 

He found himself smiling again; her responses were surprising, unpredictable and how long had it been since he experienced that? “With what exactly?” 

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “You tell me I’m beautiful, I tell you how handsome you are, we both deny it, we both insist it’s true, blah, blah, blah.”

He laughed. With anyone else that was exactly how the conversation would have gone.

“We’re two intelligent and cultured people who’ve only just met.” She continued on. “Surely there must be better ways to spend our time together, and far more interesting topics to discuss?”

It was a refreshing viewpoint. “You don’t enjoy receiving compliments, then?” 

She gave small snort. “Do you?”

 _Perfect_. “No, not particularly.” It was true. One was either stating the obvious, or lying outright. As she’d said, it was a waste of time. 

She seemed just as pleased with his response. “And apparently you don’t like parties either. This is the first I’ve seen of you tonight.”

And with that, she’d given him the opening he needed. “Truthfully, I’m not here for the party.” He confessed.

She gave him an appraising look. “Business then?” She guessed.

“One might say that.” He wasn’t going to tell her what, not quite yet.

She raised an eyebrow. “Handsome and mysterious. That must play well.” She commented lightly, and then rolled her eyes. “Sorry. You did just say you didn’t care for compliments, didn’t you? It’s a hard habit to break. Usually at this type of shindig most of my time is spent giving out empty compliments.” She winced. “Not that they’d be empty in your case, of course.“ She assured him and then winced again. “Shit.” She muttered and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.” She clapped her hand over her mouth as if to prevent any further vulgarity from slipping out. 

Sebastian looked at her in surprise but she looked so appalled he had to work not to laugh.

She looked down at the ground, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. She raised her glass, took too large a sip of her whiskey and began coughing. 

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked in concern.

“Well, that wasn't too embarrassing.” She said dryly, when she could speak again. “I apologize. I’m usually much more socially adept than the last few minutes would seem to indicate.” Her voice trailed off. She raised a slender white hand and rubbed gently between her brows and he saw a glimpse of that weariness he’d seen when she first entered the room, and that urge to take care of her returned. 

“You’re sure you’re all right?” He asked, more gently this time.

She gave him a small smile and waved away his concerns. “I’m fine. A bit more tired than I thought is all. I’ve had a rather trying week.” She gestured to the love seat by the fireplace. “Do you mind if we sit for a bit?” 

“Of course. I should have suggested it myself.” He found her ingenuousness strangely charming and utterly unexpected, and he was reminded again of how very young she was. 

The instant the thought had formed, his guard went up again. 

_Oh she was good._

If even a fraction of the stories about her were true there was nothing in the least ingenuous about Anabel Amell-Hawke. He mentally chided himself for his carelessness. That was twice now, he realized, three times if you counted what had happened in the ballroom. 

He stepped aside and she crossed to the small sofa and sat. He took the armchair opposite. 

“Why haven’t we met before?” She asked him with a small tilt of her head.

“We’ve both been rather busy the last few years with more important matters: you with Kirkwall, and I securing Starkhaven.”

“Congratulations on that, by the way.” She said raising her glass. “They were foolish not to offer you the throne before this.”

He inclined his head and raised his glass in return. “Thank you.” He said after they’d both taken small sips. “And from what I’ve heard, I might soon be able to offer the same congratulations to you. I understand the Viscount intends to formally make you his heir later this year. An impressive achievement at your age.”

She looked demurely down at her hands. “Thank you.”

“Especially given the stories one hears.”

She laughed, and the rich sound of it went straight through him. “Surely, you don’t believe that drivel you read in the gossip papers, do you? Hardly any of it’s true. On occasion they manage to spell my name right but that’s about it.” 

“I wasn’t speaking of the stories in the papers, actually. I was thinking of those other stories; the ones that are whispered rather than broadcast.” He watched for her reaction.

She went completely still, staring at him. For a moment they simply watched each other, as he waited to see what she would do next.

And then she smiled, a more dangerous smile than she’d been wearing before, and one Sebastian found infinitely more interesting. Her eyes were older suddenly, wiser, and definitely harder. 

“Oh, those stories.“ She said, and in contrast to her eyes, her voice was almost careless. She raised her glass and took a drink and even that small movement was different, languid and elegant, and absolutely mesmerizing. 

_Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly._

But was it done to give herself time, to make him wait, or just to draw him in? It could have been any of the three, or all of them. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

“A hazard of the position I’m afraid.” She said when she’d swallowed. “There are stories of a similar sort concerning your own journey to the throne, I believe.” 

“There are.” He agreed.

They continued to watch each other without speaking, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the brass carriage clock on the mantel.

“I can’t help noticing you aren’t denying them.” He’d wondered if she would. 

She dipped her finger into the whiskey and then ran it slowly around the rim of the glass. Her nails were perfectly manicured and painted a pale demure pink. When she raised her eyes to look at him that darker smile was back. “Neither are you.” She pointed out.

No protestations, no denials, no false outrage and he found he liked that very much indeed. He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms of it and touching his fingertips together. “I’ll tell you what.” He suggested. “Let’s play a game.” 

There was a flash of her dimple and suddenly the girl he’d first seen was back. “I adore games. Which one did you have in mind?”

“Truth.” He said.

She looked startled and then laughed merrily. “Oh, I haven’t played that one in years, and I suspect you haven’t either. Are you sure you even remember the rules?” 

Sebastian realized he was enjoying himself. “Just because I don’t always play by them, doesn’t mean I don’t remember them.” He told her. “And in this room, for this game, I’ll follow them. Will you?” He challenged.

Again that small tilt of her head, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth as she considered the question carefully. “Why not?” She said after a moment. ”How do we start?”

“I’ll ask a question and you have to answer with the truth. And then you get to do the same in return.” 

“Who knows what might be learned?” She murmured, still watching him. “We’ve only just met. Why would you trust me with the truth?” 

“You’ll be trusting me as well.” He pointed out. 

“Blackmail is always a possibility.” She suggested, but she didn’t seem quite convinced of it.

“I suspect we’ve both moved beyond that sort of thing. Besides, who would believe us, anyway?”

“So why play the game then?” She asked, sounding genuinely curious now.

He pretended to consider the question. “To satisfy our own curiosity?" He suggested. "To learn more about each other?"

She was intrigued by the idea, he could see that.

He had to confess to the same. 

After a moment she slipped off her shoes, delicate gold sandals with a four inch stiletto heel, and tucked her feet beneath her, but not before he’d noticed her toes were painted the same shade of pink as her fingernails. She curled herself into the corner of the love seat and sitting like that in the dim light from the fire she looked barely more than a teenager, and an innocent teenager at that. She seemed to be able to turn it on at will. 

“All right then.” She said softly. “You go first.”

Where to begin... “You’re responsible for your brother’s death at the University at Ansberg three years ago.”

She looked surprised. “I didn’t think you’d start with that one.” She toyed with the piping on the arm of the couch before answering. “No.” She finally said. “That was Carver’s own stupidity. Alcohol poisoning during Hell Week when he was pledging to some ridiculous fraternity.”

“But you encouraged him to pledge, and to pledge to that fraternity in particular. It had had similar incidents in the past. You must have been aware of that.”

“It had and I was.” She agreed. “That doesn’t make it any less stupid on Carver’s part.” 

Her contempt for her brother was clear but there was something else. A touch of regret? Perhaps. “You and your grandfather made certain the fraternity was shut down and those responsible prosecuted.”

“Of course.” She seemed surprised he’d even questioned it. “Carver may have been an idiot, but he was still an Amell. We couldn’t simply turn a blind eye; that _would_ have made tongues wag. My turn.” She announced abruptly, changing the subject. She thought for a moment and then grinned. “Did you really sleep with your brother’s fiancée?”

He couldn’t help laughing. He hadn’t expected the first question to be quite so prurient. “I thought everyone knew the answer to that already. Yes.” 

“On the night before the wedding.” 

“Yes.” He admitted freely.

She leaned eagerly forward. “When you were just sixteen?”

“No.” He said and he laughed again when her face fell. “I was fifteen not sixteen. I wouldn’t turn sixteen for another two months.”

“It’s said they almost cancelled the wedding entirely. Is that true?”

“It is.”

“What stopped them?”

“It would have been an unprecedented scandal, and scandal is something the Vaels simply don't do.”

She grinned at him. “Until you came along, at least.” 

“There’ve been a few other incorrigible reprobates over the centuries. Even the odd pirate or two, as I recall. I just had the misfortune of arriving after a particularly dull and virtuous stretch.

“I’ve always had a thing for pirates.” She confessed. “I even wanted to be one for a time when I was little.”

“How little?” He wondered what she’d been like as a child, what it was that had captured her grandfather’s eye. 

“Five or six I think. Grandfather was quick to dissuade me. He told me pirates never managed to hang on to their money and a good many of them ended up actually hanged. He said that if money was what I was truly interested in there were far better careers to pursue. And then he had me write a two page essay on which career I’d choose and why it was better than piracy.”

“And what career did you choose?” 

She gave him a mischievous grin. “I told him I wanted to be a dragon.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “And how did 'Grandfather' receive that bit of news?”

“I told him I wanted to be a dragon: swooping down on unsuspecting villagers, snarling and snapping at everyone around me, breathing fire and making them cower in front of me, before taking their gold and hording it back in my cave.” Her grin deepened. “I told him I wanted to be a dragon just like he was.”

Sebastian burst out laughing. From everything he’d heard about Aristide Amell it was a remarkably apt description. No wonder she’d intrigued the man. “And what was his response?”

“He was appalled at first, but then he started laughing and couldn't stop. He promised to teach me everything he knew about being a dragon and gave me an extra raspberry tart with my tea that day. Why did you do it?”

The change of topic was so abrupt that for a moment he didn’t know what she talking about. “Sleep with Sarah you mean?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve heard you didn’t get along with your brother – with either of them, but particularly the middle one, Brandon?”

“Braedon.” He corrected. 

“Braedon. Why sleep with his fiancée? Was it spite? Revenge? I’ve seen pictures of her; she was pretty, but I can’t believe that was your motivation.”

Sebastian wasn’t even certain he would call her pretty, but he refrained from saying it aloud. “My brother and I had quarreled earlier. He informed me that I was just a third son, not even 'the spare', and that I could never hope to marry someone of Sarah’s status. Third sons were useless and unneeded, and I’d have to work for a living, to take some minor position in some minor company outside of Starkhaven, and marry the least attractive daughter of some rich upstart trying to wheedle his way into Free Marcher society. He told me that the women who mattered, decent, proper noblewomen wouldn't want anything to do with me.” He gave a careless shrug. “I showed him otherwise.” 

“Was sleeping with her enough?” She asked.

“Oh, I did far more than just that. Over the course of a fortnight I wooed her and charmed her and seduced her inch by inch before taking her to bed and making love to her for hours on the night before she was to marry my brother and all of it was done right under his nose. And in doing so I made certain that every time she was in my brother’s bed she’d compare him with me and find him lacking.” 

She seemed to be trying to hide a smile. “How did he find out?”

“There were three hours between the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner. I went to her bedroom and took full advantage of those hours. I knew eventually Braedon would come looking for her. I'm afraid he caught us in a rather compromising position.”

She laughed. “You'll have to tell me which one some day. Nicely executed, but not terribly subtle.” 

He gave her a charming smile. “What can I say? I was young. I’ve improved my technique since then, I hope. My turn. You had your sister committed to a mental institution, against her will.” 

Her smile disappeared and she gave him a suspicious frown. “You’ve got a strange fascination with my siblings.” She informed him. “Against her will?” She shook her head. “No.” 

He marked the distinction. “But you did have her committed.” He confirmed.

“Bethany asked to go to the Circle, actually. She’s a sweet girl who wouldn’t harm a fly, but she’s a fragile sort. She’s prone to depression and mild paranoia with a just a touch of schizophrenia thrown in. She’s convinced that if she doesn’t follow the rules she’ll turn into some kind of monster.” 

“And why would she think that?” Sebastian asked.

She ran her finger along the edge of her glass again before answering. “She thinks that the Amells are under some kind of a curse. That it’s in our blood, and that it’s only a matter of time before it happens to her, that it's inevitable.” 

“A belief you encouraged?” 

She gave a small shrug but didn’t deny the charge. “I didn’t discourage it. What she doesn’t realize of course is that anyone can become a monster, the only rule is not to get caught.” 

“And of course if the monster has control enough to not get caught can it still rightly even be called a monster?” He asked.

She raised those magnificent eyes to him but seeing no condemnation, she smiled and inclined her head. 

He returned the gesture.

Monster acknowledged monster. 

She settled back on the love seat seeming more relaxed now. “Exactly. Bethany has never been able to see that, and she’ll certainly never accept it.” Her eyes grew distant. “She’s much happier where she is, in the Circle. Dr. Stannard takes good care of her.”

“Your grandfather favored you over your brother and sister, that was obvious to everyone. Why go through all that trouble to get them out of the way?”

She seemed surprised he’d needed to ask. “Grandfather used them to control me. If I was reticent or balked at any of his schemes he’d remind me: _I’ve two other grandchildren, you know._ I didn’t like that he had that leverage, so I removed it. Oddly enough the action seemed to be my final examination as it were. He gave me free reign after that. The plane crash that killed your family.” She asked. “Your doing?”

His face went carefully blank. “Did I sabotage the plane? No.” 

“And the pilot?” She asked with an arch of her eyebrow and a small smirk. “Did you sabotage him?"

He sat up a little straighter. “That’s a very different question.” 

“What was his blood alcohol level again? .17?” 

“.18 I believe. Tragic. They say you can never truly cure an alcoholic. Sadly for my family that proved to be true.” 

“And the children?” Her voice was suddenly softer.

“A mistake. I had no idea they’d be on the plane. A last minute change of plans I didn’t hear about until afterwards.” His regret about that was genuine.

She arched an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have spoiled your plans if they hadn’t been on that plane?”

“Not at all. I’d have stepped in as Regent and made myself indispensable. The parliament of Starkhaven would have seen the wisdom of having an adult in charge rather than a boy of eleven. A change in the succession like that isn’t unprecedented.” 

“I’ve a follow up question but I think it’s your turn."

He thought for a moment. “Did you care at all for the Dumar boy?” He asked. “You were engaged to him.” 

Her face softened. “I did, poor sod, and I mean that quite literally of course. He was sweet and gentle and one of the few truly kind people I’ve ever met.” Her voice trailed off. “We could have made a go of it, I think. We’d have been happier than most married couples I know."

“Convenient, his Qunari lover being shot during a burglary.”

The look she gave him was less than friendly. “Are you asking if I set that up?”

“I’ll admit to a certain curiosity about it.”

Her eyes narrowed and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer but then she sighed and the fight seemed to go out of her. “We did say Truth, didn’t we? This one strikes close though.” She confessed. “No, I didn’t. That was his father. He thought if Ashaad was out of the way he could just marry Saemus off and no one would ever know about that love shack out on the Wounded Coast. It was stupid of him. He should have come to me first. I liked Ashaad. I didn’t mind the fact of him at all. We could have worked out an arrangement that would have suited all of us. The ‘burglary’ was just sloppy and it broke something in Saemus when Ashaad was killed.”

“But Marlowe got what he wanted out of it. Your engagement to Saemus was announced what, two months later?”

“Closer to three, but, yes, he got his wish. It probably would have worked out if the press hadn’t got wind of the whole thing. Those damned pictures.” Her nostrils flared and he realized she was angry. Angry and something more.

“The papers said you found him.” 

“Yes.” She stood abruptly and walked over to the fireplace putting her glass on the mantel and staring down at the flames. He couldn’t be sure but from this angle there seemed to be tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said quietly, and meant it. 

She turned her head and stared at him for a moment. “Thank you.” She said eventually, and sighed. “The press hounded him after the first pictures appeared. He thought he’d let us down, his father and me, and that there was no fixing it. He should have come to me instead of... I could have taken care of it. I did take care of it.” Those eyes which had seemed almost liquid a moment ago were now as hard as the gems they resembled. 

“Petrice.” 

She gave him a surprised look. “So you know about that as well. I’m impressed. Not many have made the connection. Yes. Petrice underestimated me. People only do that once.” 

“Did she truly make an unwelcome pass at you?”

“You don’t believe it?” Her eyes were innocent but there was an almost teasing quality to the question.

“I believe she would have made a pass at you if given the slightest encouragement. But an unwelcome pass while at the company Christmas party? Not even Petrice would be quite so reckless.” 

“You sound like you knew her.” 

“We’d met on occasion.” He said dryly. He'd found the woman poisonous.

“Do you know I never actually claimed that she made a pass at me?” She sounded vaguely puzzled. 

“No?”

“No. I emerged from the Ladies Room, wild-eyed and a bit disheveled, mascara running and lipstick smeared, insisting to my escort that nothing was wrong, nothing had happened truly and could he please just take me home, when Petrice appeared behind me with my lipstick on her mouth. I was wearing a very bright red lipstick that night.” The memory made her smile. “All I had to do then was begin to shake and cry rather piteously, repeating that nothing had happened, and asking to go. People will assume the oddest things under the right circumstances.” She said absently. 

“What made you choose that particular response?” 

She smiled. “Petrice had a morals clause in her contract. Everyone at the Chantry Corporation does.”

“And does being a lesbian violate that?” 

“No, of course not. But an aggressive lesbian who would force herself on an innocent and recently bereaved girl of twenty-one, working for a company as old and conservative as the Chantry Corporation? That was really all it took. She knew after that there would be no advancement for her there. That imperious ice maiden act hadn’t made her any friends over the years.”

“She seems to have vanished from the Free Marches.” Said Sebastian watching her face closely. “No one’s heard hide nor hair from her. You wouldn’t know anything about her current whereabouts?”

She gave a graceful shrug. “I’ve no idea. Though if I were to look, I’d start my search in Par Vollen. “

He almost laughed aloud. “Petrice in Par Vollen?” He asked dubiously. “That seems highly unlikely.”

She gave a small cat like smile. “I didn’t say Petrice was in Par Vollen. But the people who would know where she is are. They considered Saemus one of their own, you see, in spite of Ashaad’s death. The Qunari take care of their own.” He could hear the satisfaction in her voice.

“You admire them.” He commented.

“You always know where you stand with the Qunari. I find that… refreshing. So did Saemus.” 

She seemed melancholy now and he found himself wanting to distract her. “You said you had a follow up question earlier.” He reminded her.

“I did. Why do you think Starhaven’s parliament put Goran on the throne right after the accident?” 

“I think they panicked. The whole of the Royal family had been wiped out. I was viewed as of an irresponsible rebel and I had been away from Starkhaven for more than a decade. They were worried the monarchy would collapse if someone wasn’t put on the throne immediately.”

“It must have been frustrating after all your work.” And she sounded genuinely sympathetic.

“I was mostly exasperated by their stupidity.” He admitted. “He was in no way qualified or prepared for the job. He’d have proved it himself all on his own, but that might have taken years. I managed to find someone to speed things along a bit.”

She nodded as if he’d confirmed something she already knew. “Jehane Harimann."

"Yes." He agreed. 

"I'd never met her, but I knew her father quite well. He once told me she had the heart of a snake. Was she paid for what she did?" 

“Certain conversations took place as to how such a thing might be accomplished, but no money. It was status she craved not riches, not at first anyway.” He stared at her puzzled by what she'd said. "What sort of a relationship did you have with Lord Harimann that he would have shared that opinion with you so freely?" He asked.

She looked away, just briefly, but for long enough that Sebastian made a mental note of it. 

"Oh, he was always stopping by when I was growing up," she said casually. "He and grandfather had been friends for eons. I called him Uncle until I was fifteen." She smiled suddenly. "He used to bring me sweets when I was little. I'd have to guess what hand they were hidden in. I always managed to guess right. It was only when I was older that I began to suspect he had them in both hands all along."

She spoke of him with more fondness than she shown for her Grandfather in the course of their conversation, Sebastian realized, a fondness that Lord Harimann had shared apparently. Perhaps Harimann had found a substitute for the daughter he so disliked. Before Sebastian could question her about it she'd resumed speaking.

"So Jehane pushed for Goran to remain on the throne and to marry her daughter, all while quietly draining the Vael Trust and then starting in on the family jewels when money ran short to pay for bribes and such to keep him there.”

A look of irritation crossed Sebastian’s face. “Yes. Something I hadn’t foreseen. I’ve had a devil of a time tracking them down. It was the smaller pieces she sold that she didn’t think would be missed. Their value is mostly sentimental. 

“I’ve got one.” She announced. “A gold locket with some flowers made of amethysts on it.”

She had surprised him again. “You have my grandmother’s locket?”

“Yes. I have some enterprising friends. Every so often they stumble across things they think I might like and pay me a visit.”

“How did you know it belonged to the Vaels?” 

“There was a picture of your grandparents in one of my history books when I was little. Your grandmother was wearing it. I liked it. I liked the picture. Your grandparents looked happy. It was the first time I realized that people of our sort had that option. When Isa… my friend showed it to me I wanted it. You can have it back, of course.” She offered.

He appreciated the offer, but he was more intrigued by her previous statement. “People of our sort?” 

“Nobility. People in power. Grandfather taught me that happiness was unimportant for us. Power was what mattered, and the wealth to gain it and keep it. Your grandparents seemed to be a living contradiction to that statement.” 

She had his grandmother’s locket. It seemed serendipitous somehow. “How old were you when you realized your Grandfather wanted you to be Viscount of Kirkwall?”

She let out a heavy breath. “I can’t remember when he didn’t so I must have been young. Four or five?” 

He smiled sympathetically. “I was about the same age when I was told not to expect money or power or the throne. Do you think the nobles in Kirkwall will back your being the Viscount’s heir?”

“I think so. The Amell name has a certain pull. What happened with Saemus and Petrice has given me most of the established families, as well as influence with the Qunari which all of Kirkwall has noticed. And more recently the less wholesome but very influential residents of the City have promised me their support.”

Sebastian sat up a bit straighter, staring at her. “You’re talking about the Underground.” 

She stared at him solemnly. “Yes.” 

“You have support from the Mob in Tevinter?” He said, just to clarify.

A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “I believe they prefer to be called magisters, but yes.” 

“How on Thedas…” No one in the Free Marches or Orlais, or Ferelden even did business with Tevinter. He’d sent out a few tentative feelers at one point, but it had gone no farther than that. He’d moved beyond being impressed with her to being astonished. He couldn’t help asking. “How did you manage that?” 

A sudden shadow crossed her face and she looked down at the fire again. “The way most business deals are managed. “ She said, her voice low. “I had something they wanted. Something I was willing to give up in return for their support.” She reached out and touched the horns of a halla figurine that sat on the mantle and he realized her hand was shaking. “I needed that more than I needed…” She stopped for a moment. “I can’t get the throne without the help of the Underground and Tevinter controls the Underground. I did what I had to.” She raised her chin, looking at him defiantly.

He added the magisters to his list of connectionto look into, but changed the subject. “I assume Varric Tethras will get you the backing of the Merchant’s Guild?”

Her face softened at the name. “Yes. I never even had to ask him. Varric’s always supported me without question. No matter what I’ve done.” She seemed to shake herself free of her thoughts and smiled at him. “Yes. I have the support I need now, I think.”

“Would the support of Starkhaven be of use?” He asked.

She blinked at him in surprise. “We've only just met. You’d be willing to offer that?” 

He could hear the eagerness in her voice. “Under certain circumstances, yes.” He confirmed.

She was suddenly alert, in a way she hadn’t been before. He could almost see her brain spinning, see her trying to calculate the risks, to figure out what he might want in return and if she would be willing to give it.

He thought she would be. He hoped it now as well.

“There’s been some talk of doing away with the monarchy in Starkhaven.” She said finally.

“Yes. I don’t think it will come to anything.” 

She gave a low laugh. “You seem awfully certain.”

He smiled confidently and rose to his feet, crossing to stand beside her, looking down at her. “I’ve a plan that all but assures it.” A plan that he hadn’t been certain he would go ahead with, but having met her… “I’m to be wed.” He announced.

She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “The playboy of Thedas is taking a wife? I don’t believe it.” 

“It’s true.” He told her. “I’m going to give the Free Marches, and indeed all of Thedas, something it loves.”

“And what’s that?”

“A fairy tale.” He said simply.

She looked puzzled. Puzzled, but intrigued. “Go on.” She said.

“A handsome prince and a beautiful princess. A wedding televised to all corners of Thedas from the cathedral at Starkhaven, horse drawn carriages, flowers, music, a ball to celebrate the occasion in the newly rennovated grand ballroom of the palace, and an heir to the throne within a year. The happily ever after they can only dream about, broadcast in high definition right in their living rooms.”

She seemed dubious. “And this paragon of princesshood? Where will you find her?” 

He smiled. “I’m speaking to her right now.” 

Her mouth fell open, but she closed it immediately and he could see those wheels begin to spin again as she considered every aspect of it. 

“You’re talking a lifetime commitment.” She said.

“Yes. But we’d both profit from that.” He waited for her next question.

“Would we split time between Kirkwall and Starkhaven or would I be here and you there?” 

“It’s in our interests to appear a loving couple. Time apart would be kept to a minimum.”

“I wouldn’t neglect Kirkwall’s needs for Starkhaven’s.” She warned him.

“I wouldn’t expect you too. But there are advantages to Kirkwall from this union.”

“And to Starkhaven.” She said sharply.

He inclined his head, feeling strangely pleased that she defended her city. “Indeed. You did hear the part about a child within a year?"

She looked amused. "I heard it. That's not an issue. I've always wanted children. More than one, if possible." She gave him a questioning look.

"I see no problem with that." He assured her. An heir was required but more children would only confirm the 'they all lived happily ever after' picture that they would present to the world. 

She was quiet for a moment. "I assume there would be some kind of contract, some kind of legal document, I mean, that would cover all of this.” 

“Yes, but that would be kept as quiet as is possible. You and I would know of it and one witness for each of us.” 

“Two.” She said. 

He raised his chin and looked at her. “Seneschal Bran and?”

“Varric Tethras. I’d want him to look it over and be a witness. Bran knows the law, but Varric knows how the world works.”

He didn’t think she would budge on the point. “Very well. If you do accept the offer Mr. Tethras can be one of the signatories.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, and standing there like that, tinier than ever without her shoes she looked uncertain, and Sebastian was reminded again of how young she was, in spite of all she'd achieved.

“Take some time to think about it.” He pulled out his card, his private card with his cell number on it and handed it to her. “Let me know by tomorrow evening.”

“No need.” She said. She returned to the love seat and bent down for her shoes. “Where are you staying?”

He frowned. “I keep an apartment here in Val Royeaux.” 

“I’ve got a suite at the Ritz, but there are too many eyes there, too many players of the game. We’ll go to your place.” She slipped on her shoes and looked up at him expectantly.

He was staring at her in confusion, and when she saw it she actually rolled her eyes before giving him a mildly exasperated look. “If you think I’ll agree to marrying you without fucking you first then your spies aren’t nearly as good as you think they are.”


	3. Learning the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anabel's issued her ultimatum, and Sebastian attempts to find out the details of what happened between her and Nathaniel before making his decision.

“If you think I’ll agree to marrying you without fucking you first then your spies aren’t nearly as good as you think they are.” She informed him. Her tone was almost matter-of-fact. 

The offhand vulgarity of the remark irritated Sebastian, though it had produced an instantaneous physical response that he forced himself to ignore. That only added to his irritation. “They’re better than you think.” He retorted, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

If he’d expected her to be surprised or alarmed by the remark he would have been disappointed. 

Her lips curved into a smile worthy of the proverbial cat who’d caught the canary. “And how is Nathaniel?” She asked.

She knew, he realized. Perhaps she’d known from the very beginning, for catching the canary was precisely what she had done: caught him, devoured him whole and spat him back out again where Sebastian would be sure to find him. 

_The little_ … but to his surprise he found himself trying and failing not to smile. “Almost recovered.” He told her dryly. “Did you know the whole time?”

“That you’d sent him to me, you mean?” She shook her head. “No. It took me almost a week and a good long soak in the bath to figure it out. He was very good,” she admitted freely, “well, at first, anyway.” she added, almost as an afterthought.

_At first anyway._

Sebastian was beginning to think he’d made a mistake not pressing Nathaniel for all the details of his sojourn with Anabel Amell-Hawke. At the time he hadn’t thought it was necessary. 

She was right: Nathaniel was good, and it hadn’t been the first time Sebastian had sent him on such a mission, but the report he’d turned in when he’d returned from Kirkwall had been less thorough than previous reports. The man had been such a wreck at the time that Sebastian hadn’t thought it necessary to push for more. It was enough that Nathaniel had confirmed that Anabel Amell Hawke was everything he had been seeking. It seemed an unacceptable oversight now. “What gave him away?” He asked, keeping his voice casual.

She gave a small shrug as if she didn’t find the subject particularly interesting either. “Oh, he started laying it on a bit thick. It had begun as just a bit of fun, I thought, and suddenly there he was going on about how he’d never met anyone like me and that he couldn’t live without me.” She’d begun fiddling with the knickknacks on the mantel again. “Well that certainly seemed odd, but It wasn’t until he started talking about saving me from men who would use me for their own selfish ends, and running off to live in Rivain or some such backwater that alarm bells began to ring.” 

_Men who would use her for their own selfish ends_. For a moment Sebastian could only stare at her. “He actually said that?”

Well there could be no doubt as to whom he’d been speaking of. It seemed he and Nathaniel would need to have a talk about those details he’d left out of his report after all, and sooner rather than later.

Anabel was answering and he forced himself to pay attention. 

“I know! I mean Rivain’s fine for a week or two in the dead of winter, but who in the Maker’s name would want to live there year-round? I’d be bored to tears. Well, knowing what I did about Nathaniel, that he would suggest that was just ridiculous and I started to suspect that perhaps my meeting with Nathaniel might have been more than mere chance. So off to my bath I went.”

Sebastian’s brows came together and he realized she’d said something about a bath before. “Your bath?” 

She nodded her head, seeming to notice nothing odd in the statement. “I discovered long ago that I do my best thinking in a steaming hot bath. It works like magic.” She gave him a deliberately innocent look through her long dark lashes. “You should give it a try sometime.” 

He wondered how long it had taken her to perfect that look. “I’m more of a shower man myself,” he informed her, but he found himself thinking of the black marble tub back at his apartment here in Val Royeaux, a tub certainly big enough for two, which he’d never used but suddenly he found himself wanting to, but not alone, and most certainly not for solving business issues. “And did the bath work its magic?”

“Of course.” She answered seeming surprised he’d even needed to ask. “It all fell into place. I’d known Nathaniel worked for you, of course, and that he was in Kirkwall investigating ‘investment opportunities’, also for you. He’d mentioned that much the night we met. It was only when I was lying there in the bath, going over it all, thinking of all those ridiculous things he’d said that I realized I was the business: I was the investment opportunity, it was I who was being quite thoroughly examined and investigated, but to what end, and why would Nathaniel feel the need to go so over the top?"

 _Why indeed?_ Sebastian thought, his irritation with Nathaniel growing. 

“I decided that obviously there must be some sort of deadline involved, one that he was worried he’d fail to meet, but I still couldn’t figure out what that was. I actually had to add more hot water to the tub and I was getting quite pruney by the time I finally did figure it out, and of course then I could have kicked myself it was so obvious.“

Sebastian still didn’t know what she was going to say. “Was it?” 

She rolled her eyes. “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t some feather-brained society miss who would toss everything away on some romantic pipe dream. Nathaniel was supposed to try and make me fall in love with him, wasn’t he? That’s why he was suddenly spouting all that romantic drivel.”

 _Holy Maker_. Was that the impression Nathaniel had left with her? 

She was looking up at him, eager for confirmation that she’d solved the puzzle, that yes, she was right and something in her expression reminded him again of how young she was. 

He wondered how many times she’d looked at her grandfather like that, hoping for praise or approval. He wondered how many times the bastard had shot her down, or offered only a grudging acknowledgment of her accomplishments. 

He was no stranger to that sort of treatment as anyone who’d been at court in Starkhaven when he was a boy could confirm. 

Her grandfather for instance. 

And instantly that wariness was back. Was all of this simply a part of her act? The more he spoke with her the harder it was to distinguish the truth, to find the real Anabel Amell-Hawke, if he had in fact even met her yet. 

He found himself wanting to. 

When he failed to answer right away that eagerness vanished from her eyes. The sophisticated mask slipped back into place and he felt a pang of regret. 

“Or not.” She said with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile. “I do get things wrong on occasion, even in the bath.”

“No. You’ve done remarkably well actually.” He assured her. She’d gotten some things wrong, but not all. 

He had been looking for someone without any romantic illusions. He’d wanted someone emotionally pragmatic, but someone who, at the same time, possessed the sexual skills and confidence he would require of a lifetime monogamous commitment: to put it plainly, someone who enjoyed sex as much as he did without the emotional baggage that most women he’d met seemed determined to drag along with them.

When her name had first come up, Sebastian had dismissed Anabel Amell-Hawke. She was too young, too inexperienced, and too… _good_ seemed to simple a word and _moral_ had vaguely religious overtones that he didn’t think applied. It didn’t seem possible that she could meet those less wholesome requirements he needed in a wife.

It was only when Nathaniel had told him of the darker whispers that persisted about her, persisted but never came to light, that he’d reconsidered and ordered a more thorough investigation, the investigation that had resulted in Nathaniel’s trip to Kirkwall. 

Nathaniel had been told to seduce her. Sebastian hadn’t expected that Nathaniel would be seduced in turn, if indeed one could call what she’d done to him seduction.

Trying to make her fall in love with him had certainly not been on the agenda. She’d been completely wrong about that.

That she figured out as much as she had told him a great deal about her. The way she’d handled Nathaniel had told him far more, but left him more puzzled as to her motive for such treatment.

“So you did what you did to Nathaniel simply to show that you hadn’t fallen in love with him and that you wouldn’t succumb to…how did you put it? ‘Some romantic pipe dream’?” At the time he’d assumed her treatment of Nathaniel was simply caprice, a young girl’s careless flexing of her newly discovered but undeniable sexual power. He still wondered if that had played any part in it, but her reply completely disabused him of the notion. 

“Of course not.” She said scornfully. “I did what I did to Nathaniel because I was pissed off.”

She’d surprised him again. “You were angry?”

“Wouldn’t you have been? I don’t like being used, or played with, or lied to.” She continued. “Not by anyone.” She let that careful mask slip and her eyes were cold; beautiful still, but entirely cold.

He would have been furious. Sebastian stared at her, fascinated by the answer. “But if you knew he’d been following my instructions, shouldn’t I have been the object of your revenge, rather than him?” 

She laughed that rich, throaty laugh that was so at odds with her appearance, and seemed genuinely amused by the question. 

“Oh, Sebastian.” She said shaking her head. “Nathaniel Howe has been your constant companion since you were boys. You went to school together, and University, and he accompanied you on your exile from Starkhaven. He’s your right hand man, your closest friend, perhaps your only friend. You saw how I sent him back to you.“ She walked closer and placed one delicate hand on his chest, looking up at him with a smile that walked a thin line between teasing and mocking. “What on Thedas makes you think you weren’t?” She said softly, her voice almost a caress.

For a moment he was speechless.

She’d seen through the deception, had realized that she was being tested, had realized who was behind it, and had sent a decisive message.

That it had taken her as long as it had to discover his plan, he could put down to her youth and Nathaniel’s charm, which could be considerable when he made the effort. 

That he had failed to realize the message she had sent until she herself revealed it just now, he was less forgiving of, but even more impressed with.

She was magnificent. Beautiful, intelligent, sexually skilled, and as her treatment of Nathaniel had shown utterly ruthless when she needed to be. Or wanted to be.

What was it Nathaniel had said when he’d finally been sober enough to form a coherent sentence? That Anabel Amell-Hawke was exactly who Sebastian was looking for.

And he’d been entirely right. 

Oh yes, the potential for danger was there, Nathaniel had been correct in that as well, like a small kitten with very sharp claws, claws that were potentially laced with poison.

But if he could tame her, keep those claws retracted, if he could confide in her, tell her of his plans, make her see what he intended, and make her completely his…

There would be nothing they couldn’t accomplish.

She was watching him carefully, her eyes challenging him, her cheeks pink, and her red lips parted, waiting for his reaction to what she’d told him.

He tried to remember when he’d wanted anyone more.

“A phone call would have sufficed.” He murmured. He wondered if those lips were as soft as they looked. For a moment he was tempted to reach out run a finger along them, just to see. Instead he picked up the hand that rested on his chest, marveling at the delicacy perfection of it. If she had any physical flaws he had yet to see them.

“I might say the same to you.” She said, her voice a bit breathier than before. “Though if we’d exchanged phone calls instead of Nathaniel would you have made the proposal you did tonight?”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Probably not.” He admitted. “You didn’t suspect?” He asked, turning her hand over and tracing his fingers over her palm. 

She gave a small shiver and shook her head. “No. I was curious as to what you wanted of me of course, but I didn’t think your proposal would quite literally be a proposal.” She carefully withdrew her hand, and took a step back, and he let her, pleased by the response he’d elicited with just that small touch.

“Would you have played it differently if you had known?” He asked her.

She gave a small shrug. “I might have been a bit less ruthless with poor Nathaniel. If we do move forward with your plan it’s bound to make our day to day dealings a bit awkward.” 

“I think you’ll find Nathaniel’s a professional. It won’t be an issue.” But he was less certain of that than he had been at the start of the evening. 

“And I wouldn’t have been quite as ‘creative in the sack’, shall we say.” She added unexpectedly.

To his surprise Sebastian found himself less neutral on the subject of Nathaniel and Anabel’s physical relationship. “For the same reason?” He asked.

“Oh, no. This one is pure vanity. I suspect you received a very detailed report on just what Nathaniel and I got up to.” Her eyes were sparkling and he caught a quick glimpse of her dimple again. “You know all my moves now. It’s entirely possible I might bore you to tears.” 

He didn’t think she believed that for a moment. “I suspect you’ve still plenty surprises left for me, both in and out of ‘the sack’ as you so delicately put it.” He said dryly. “But I also believe that in lovemaking, as in dancing, a skilled partner can make the difference between a merely satisfactory performance and an outstanding one.” 

She blinked at him. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with your ego is there? I’m not sure if Nathaniel should be offended, or if I should, but I can assure you that Nathaniel’s performance far exceeded a mere ‘satisfactory’. “

The casually tossed out remark produced an unexpected flash of something that he refused to admit was jealousy. He hadn’t been jealous in years. He’d had no need for it.

Whatever it was must have shown on his face, because that satisfied smile was back. “He was good.” She told him, her voice pitched low, with just a hint of a taunt. “Very good.” She emphasized. 

His nostrils flared. “I won’t tolerate infidelity.” He warned her.

Instead of being intimidated she seemed to find the statement amusing. “Neither will I. All the more reason to fuck tonight and make sure we’re enough for each other.”

He couldn’t help wincing at her language. 

She saw it and laughed again. “Truly? Ruthless Sebastian Vael, squeamish about a few ‘fucks’? I would never have suspected it.”

“Crude language lacks imagination.” He told her coldly, feeling as if he’d somehow lost the upper hand in the conversation.

She grinned suddenly. “Drive me back to your place and I’ll show you just how good my imagination is.” 

She was completely unintimidated by him, he realized, and he was surprised by how refreshing he found that? His irriation vanished and he found himself returning the smile. “You’re a bit of a brat, has anyone ever told you that?” 

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Not to my face.” 

He couldn’t help laughing. “Incorrigble.” 

“You should laugh more often. It suits you.” She told him.

“There’s not a lot that amuses me these days.” He admitted. 

“That’s a bit sad. I laugh all the time. You should probably know that about me. I can’t seem to help it. It used to drive Grandfather mad.” 

“I’m discovering I rather like your laughter.” He said, and meant it. 

And of all the things he had said this evening, that seemed to surprise her. “Truly?” 

“Truly.” He confirmed.

The smile she gave him this time was different: more open, more real somehow. She took a step closer closing the distance between them. She didn't touch him but she was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her, and he found his breath speeding up, just from that.

She noticed, and her smiled teased once more. She'd probably planned the movement just to elicit that reaction, but though her smile teased, her eyes were fixed on his, watching him carefully. She tilted her head to one side. “So what’s it to be, Your Highness? Your place? My place?" 

She knew exactly what she was doing, exactly how to use her body, her movements, her voice. Knew how to tease and entice and seduce, and in spite of the crude language she'd used earlier, she understood subtlety, what made seduction an art and a skill, a skill he possessed as well, but rarely encountered in others, and that realization made the thought of 'seeing if they were enough for each other' even more exciting. 

When he failed to respond right away, she arched one eyebrow. "Or do we simply shake hands and part ways here? ' 

No. There would be no parting, no going their separate ways. It was an almost visceral reaction. He’d barely touched her, hadn’t kissed her, had known her for not even an hour but he wanted her, more than he had ever wanted any woman. After Nathaniel's warnings the thought was a somewhat alarming one. He was a man who prided himself on being in control of every aspect of his life and as perfect as she seemed, he was forced to acknowledge that Anabel Amell-Hawke wasn’t so easily controlled, but Maker help him, that excited him too.

“Mine.” He said abruptly, and turning away from her, he pulled out his phone.

Nathaniel answered immediately. 

“Have Phillipe bring the car around to the back entrance.” He ordered, and then turned to look at Anabel. “Do you have a coat or a wrap?” He asked.

She nodded. “Mmm. And a clutch."

“Retrieve our coats, and Lady Hawke’s purse, and meet us by the car.” He hung up before Nathaniel could answer, and moving to the door pushed it open, holding it so she could precede him through it.

She looked at the open door and back at him. “What, not even a kiss to seal the deal?” She teased. “That’s being a bit stingy with the romance, don’t you think?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, and ‘ _if you think I’ll marry you without fucking you first_ ’ was just brimming with hearts and flowers.”

She laughed, and he couldn't help smiling. When he'd said he was growing to like her laughter he had meant it. 

“I think I like you, Sebastian Vael.” She informed him as she walked past him into the hall.

They made their way through the palace towards the kitchens. 

“You seem quite familiar with the palace.” Anabel commented as he led her down yet another small hallway.

“The royal families of Starkhaven and Orlais have always been close.” He told her. “I spent a great deal of time here when I was younger.” 

She seemed to sense he didn’t wish to speak, and remained silent as they continued.

Sebastian couldn’t stop thinking of Nathaniel, specifically of Nathaniel and Anabel, the two of them together. Details of that report which he’d read quite dispassionately at the time, flooded back, accompanied by images of the two of them together, both of them so pale, Nathaniel’s jet black hair contrasting with Anabel’s bright curls, his whipcord leanness and her delicate curves. She’d been passionate, Nathaniel had reported, enthusiastic and adventurous, open to experimentation as well as less traditional forms of lovemaking. 

The statement had been followed by a list. 

He realized he was scowling and he found himself struggling to control the expression as he thought of the things that hadn’t been listed, or indeed included in the report in any way, and the more he thought of it the less he liked either of those things: the knowledge Nathaniel had shared, or the knowledge he’d withheld. 

Still less did he like the fact that it was affecting him so strongly. Nathaniel’s words echoed in his head.

_I hadn’t expected you to be pulled into her web as quite as easily as the rest of us._

He was going to need to be very careful, he realized. In just a fortnight Anabel Amell-Hawke had compromised his most relied upon associate, reducing him to a drunken fool willing to run away and leave everything he’d worked so hard for behind. He mentally moved Nathaniel down a bit lower on the list of people he trusted. 

Something about this girl had done that. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but if she’d had that effect on Nathaniel... 

They’d reached the kitchens and he spotted Nathaniel standing by the door holding both Sebastian’s overcoat and a lush fox fur, that he could only assume was Anabel’s. 

“Nathaniel.” He said curtly as they approached.

Nathaniel’s face was expressionless. “Sebastian.” He turned to Anabel, and hesitated, just briefly, but enough that Sebastian noticed it. “Lady Hawke.” He said stiffly.

Anabel’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Nathaniel.” She murmured.

Nathaniel turned back to Sebastian, proffering the arm over which his coat was draped, but instead Sebastian took Anabel’s fur, and walking behind her helped her into it. One didn’t see many fur coats these days;and this one was a beautiful one, the red gold of the fur echoing Anabel's own rich curls. When he was done he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and when she began to move away, he tightened his grip imperceptibly, holding her where she was. She picked up on the cue and leaned back against him, nuzzling against his hand when he reached out and caressed her cheek, the both of them staring at Nathaniel the whole while.

Sebastian saw the muscle in Nathaniel’s jaw clench, just once, before he held Sebastian’s coat up for him.

Sebastian walked over and slipped into it draping his silk scarf around his neck. “Give Nathaniel your hotel room key.” He told Anabel. “He can stop at the Ritz and pick up clothes and other sundries you might need for tomorrow.” 

Wordlessly, she opened her clutch and pulled out the key, handing it not to Nathaniel, but to Sebastian.

Sebastian passed it to Nathaniel, who slipped it into his pocket. 

Sebastian put his hand at the small of Anabel’s back guiding her to the door. “Good Night, Nathaniel.” He said as the door closed behind them. If Nathaniel answered he didn’t hear it.

It wasn’t until the limousine was pulling away from the palace that he noticed she was in the far corner of the seat, gazing out the window and ignoring him completely.

“Are you angry with me?” 

“Mmm.” She murmured not turning from the window. She spoke in such an even voice that for a moment he wasn’t certain that she’d answered in the affirmative.

“Might I ask why?” He answered with equal politeness.

She turned to look at him. “If you’re upset with Nathaniel find some other way of showing it, but don't use me.” She said, letting her anger show. “You’re the one who sent him with orders to seduce me. Why on Thedas are you jealous now?”

 _Because he exceeded those orders_ , Sebastian thought but he didn’t say it out loud. “Jealousy has nothing to do with it.” He lied smoothly. “I simply wanted to make it clear to him that his association with you is at an end.”

She gave him a dubious look but when she spoke her voice was calmer. “If you’ll remember, I did that quite sufficiently on my own.” She informed him. She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “You are a strange bird Sebastian Vael. I can’t quite figure you out.”

And that could only be to his advantage. If she knew how quickly she’d reduced him to little better than a jealous schoolboy he would begin their relationship at a serious disadvantage. Was it the thought of her with Nathaniel that had caused it, or would it be the same with any lover she'd had, past or present? He watched her, staring out the window, and frowned. The report Nathaniel had given him had said nothing about a current lover: had that been an oversight, or something she had deliberately kept hidden. 

“We didn’t discuss this before: are you seeing anyone now?” He asked.

She turned her head towards him, and then batted her eyes. “I see a great many people.” 

_The minx_. “I meant romantically.” He clarified.

“Oh. _Romantically_.” She said as if it had been a great revelation. “No, I’m not seeing anyone romantically.”

Sebastian felt himself relax, and wondered why it should have mattered to him.

“There is this doctor that I pop in on whenever I want sex though.” She added matter-of-factly.

But it did. “And he won’t mind when you break it off?”

“When I break what off? Oh, the sex, you mean.” She laughed. “I think he’ll be relieved actually. He doesn’t like me very much.”

“And yet he has sex with you?” Had sex, he told himself. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so difficult to believe?” 

He looked her over from head to toe and back again. “No.” He said simply.

She laughed out loud. “There, was that so hard?" She asked him. "I’ve found that most of the time liking has very little to do with wanting. The first time we were together Anders told me he didn’t know whether to kiss me or kill me, and I’m fairly certain he meant it.”

“He sounds like a psychopath.” Sebastian commented, making a note to have this man thoroughly checked out, and if necessary dealt with. 

“Oh, he was just being dramatic. He has that tendency.” 

“I can’t say I see the appeal.” 

She gave him a knowing smile. “Well, he’s handsome and passionate, and I don’t have to worry about him blabbing about it all over town: he’d probably kill himself before he’d let it be known that he’d been having sex with me on and off for a year.” She rubbed her cheek against the fur collar of her coat. “And besides, it’s fun.”

It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Fun?”

“Turning all that rage into something else just as uncontrollable, all the while knowing he’s hating himself for giving in? Of course it’s fun. Exhilarating, even. Of course it can also be exhausting at times. All that pent up anger.”

“I think you need a less dangerous hobby.” He said dryly.

"I hear there’s going to be an opening for a princess in Starkhaven soon.” She teased. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone? Romantically, I mean.” She said and even in the dim light of the car he could see her eyes twinkling.

“No. I couldn’t take the risk. I’ve had a clean cut image to maintain.” When he looked at her she was frowning.

“Your coronation was almost a year ago.” She pointed out.

“Yes. And I’ve been under rather close scrutiny both before and since.” 

“You don’t mean to say that you’ve …” Her voice trailed off. She looked if not exactly horrified, then certainly concerned.

“That I’ve been celibate for eighteen months?” He finished for her. “Hardly. There have been women. Not as many as I would have liked. They were entirely unmemorable. Like your doctor they served their purpose, but honestly, if you were to ask me I don’t think I could even recall any of their names.”

“What, not a one?” She made a tsking sound. “You’re a cruel man Sebastian Vael.”

He glanced over at her nestled in her lush fur and smiled. “There may have been a Susan.” He said, and she laughed. 

They were pulling up to his apartment building and he pushed the intercom button, instructing the chauffeur to drive them in through the garage rather than dropping them at the front entrance.

“Are you hiding me? Smuggling me into to your apartment so nobody knows I’ve been there.” Asked Anabel as the car pulled to a stop by the elevator. 

“Not by choice.” He told her. “But if by chance there are paparazzi lingering out front I’d like to avoid them for now. If we decide to proceed after tonight photo ops will be carefully arranged and controlled.” He opened the car door and got out and signaling to the chauffeur to stay where he was, he walk around to the passenger side, opened the door and gave Anabel his hand to help her from the car.

She looked up at him and he found himself mesmerized by those extraordinary blue-green eyes. “Are you this careful with everything, Sebastian Vael? Is everything always arranged? Is there always a plan in place?” She tilted her head to one side considering him carefully. “Are you always in control?” 

He punched the button to summon the elevator before turning back to her. “Yes.” He said simply. Better that she know it from the beginning. 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She walked in and he followed swiping his keycard and hitting the button for the penthouse before turning to face her again.

She was watching him with a teasing smirk of a smile on her face. “I do love a challenge,” she said, and there was something in her voice that hadn’t been there before. 

Sebastian hadn’t intended to kiss her not yet, and certainly not in an elevator, but he found himself lunging suddenly, sliding one hand around her neck, tilting her head back, and the other slipping inside her coat and around her waist, feeling the heat of her skin through the sheer silk gauze of her dress. She gasped and he paused, their faces just inches apart. 

Her eyes were huge and her lips parted, but she was the one who closed the distance between them. Their lips touched and…

_Holy Maker._

When had a kiss ever felt like this?

Anabel whimpered and Sebastian heard himself make a growl of a sound that he couldn’t recall having made before, and the kiss became something frantic, both of them wanting more, wanting it deeper, and harder, wanting to drown in the taste, and the scent, and the feel of each other.

There was another ding and the elevator door slid open and Sebastian forced himself to break the kiss.

He couldn’t seem to completely relinquish his hold on her, though, and she had her hands twisted tightly in the lapels of his jacket, equally unwillingly to let him go. 

She ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m not certain I actually need sex to establish that we’re compatible," she confessed. "Not after a kiss like that.”

He laughed and bending his head, kissed her again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of her lips, nibbling, teasing, just until she began to respond and then he released her and turned and walked into the apartment, knowing that she would follow him.


	4. An Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian and Anabel begin get to know each other more intimately, and it turns out that Anabel wasn't as unaware of Sebastian Vael and his interest in her as he had assumed.

_Bastard_ , she thought, watching Sebastian walk into the apartment as smooth and graceful as a panther, whereas she wasn’t entirely certain she would be standing were it not for the support of the elevator wall behind her. But she couldn’t help smiling.

“Are you coming?” Sebastian called out.

 _Almost, but not yet_ , she thought, and felt the laughter rise up inside her. The humor seemed to give her the strength she needed and she pushed off the wall and stepped into the apartment. 

And what an apartment it was, like stepping into a another century, inlaid parquet floors, and soaring ceilings, elaborate plaster moldings, rich dark furniture in leather and velvets, and an enormous marble fireplace, the fire lit and giving off a warm glow – it all would have been impressive enough on its own, but the far wall of the room boasted a leaded glass window, stretching almost from floor to ceiling with a view of the Grand Cathedral lit up in all its glory. 

She dropped her clutch on a side table and crossed the room, staring at it, open-mouthed. “It’s beautiful.” She breathed out.

Sebastian had slipped off his jacket and thrown it over the arm of the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?” With one tug he untied his tie, and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt.

Anabel turned to look at him. “How can you not stop for at least a minute or two, to appreciate all this beauty when it’s right here in front of you?” 

He didn’t even glance at it. “I’ve had this apartment for seven years. I’ve seen the view on more than a few occasions.”

“Shame on you,” she said absently, and turned back to look at it again, drinking it in.

He came up behind her, standing closer than was strictly necessary. She pretended she hadn’t noticed, not until he raised his hands and rested them lightly on her shoulders. Only then did she look up at him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

He returned it. “May I take your coat?” He asked politely, but there was a heat in those vivid blue eyes. 

She could feel her heart rate speed up, just a little, just from that heat. “If you truly want me…” She’d been going to add ‘to stay’, but he cut her off before she could.

“I truly want you.” It was said quietly, a simple statement, but she didn’t doubt for an instant that he meant it.

He was still standing behind her, and still, only his hands were touching her.

It shouldn’t cause that little flutter of need, of anticipation, and of something more – not fear, not exactly but of expectation, of leaping into an unknown when everything in her life had been so carefully planned and plotted from the moment she’d arrived in Kirkwall at the age of four. 

He slipped his hands forward around the collar of the fur and his fingers brushed ever so lightly against her skin as he did. It took every ounce of control not to respond, to simply shrug her shoulders and slip her arms free of the coat. 

He took it and draped it carefully over the back of a nearby armchair. “And that drink?” He asked. “I’ve a rather nice Antivan brandy.”

“That sounds perfect.” She watched his reflection in the window as he crossed to the sideboard and opened the brandy.

Sebastian Vael. The one who got away: from duty, from obligation, from the thousand and one rules that dictated behavior in the highest echelons of Thedan society.

He’d fascinated her since the first time she’d seen his picture spread across the cover of one of the scandal papers that Cook used to read so avidly – she couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old at the time, which would have made Sebastian eighteen or so, about a year away from his break with his parents.

He’d been photographed somewhere in Antiva, wearing a tuxedo, but with no shirt beneath it, and barefoot, carrying a champagne bottle by its neck. His hair had been longer and he’d had sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, far enough down that you could see the startling blue of those eyes, and there had been a smirk of a smile on his face, a smile that said he knew he was misbehaving and he couldn’t care less.

He was the most beautiful man Anabel had ever seen. Her mouth had fallen open. “Who’s that?” She’d asked. 

Cook had peeked over her shoulder at the magazine. “That’s Prince Sebastian Vael. He’s the youngest Vael prince, and the naughtiest if even half the stories about him are true. He’s the shame of his family. Doesn’t behave at all the way a Prince should.” 

“What does he do?” Anabel had asked breathlessly.

Cook had suddenly remembered who she was talking to and grabbed the magazine away, quickly shoving it into one of the kitchen drawers. “Never you mind what he does.” She told her in a reproving voice. “It’s not anything a little girl should know about. He’s no respect for his family or his duty to them. Just does whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”

After a few years of living with her grandfather that had sounded absolutely wonderful. He was a prince and he did whatever he wanted, in spite of the fact his family was even richer, older and more important than the Amells.

_He didn’t do what he was supposed to do._

That had been the beginning of her fixation on him. 

She’d collected all the pictures she could find of him, spending her pocket money on every magazine that had him on the cover, and kept them carefully hidden away. She read every book on Starkhaven in her grandfather’s library and then moved on to the public library in Hightown. She learned everything she could about the history of the country and the ruling family. 

She hadn’t made up the story she’d told him about seeing the picture of his grandparents, the picture where they were so obviously in love, where Meagan Vael was wearing that locket: the rulers of the land and they’d married for love.

Two more Vaels who didn’t do what they were supposed to do, just like their grandson.

She was fascinated by him – not just his position, not just his good looks, though it certainly played a part, but mostly that enticing fact: he didn’t do what he was supposed to do.

And then Sebastian had done the truly unthinkable and broken with his family.

Just like that. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

They’d cut him off without a copper, and a good thing too, Grandfather had said. He gave Sebastian two years before he turned up in an alley with a needle in his arm, or on television, hawking some product nobody needed but all the old biddies would buy because it had the Vael name attached to it: Grandfather viewed the two fates as equally abhorrent.

But neither of those things had happened. 

Two years later Sebastian was back in the news, having made himself a new fortune. The words “investment genius” were being tossed about. The news and the stories that followed never failed to bring a scowl to Grandfather’s face and never failed to make her smile. 

The file she kept on him grew thicker. She kept it hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe in her room. She pored over every article and interview, trying to glean how he’d done it.

Prince Sebastian Vael, the one who got away from obligations and rules and restrictions.

The one who didn’t do what he was supposed to do, and prospered anyway.

She’d wanted him when she was too young and naïve to know what that even meant. 

There was no chance she’d meet him, not yet, Grandfather would make sure of that, but that didn’t matter now. She was far too young for him at this point and he was too busy building his fortune but someday she would. Someday she’d attract his attention, someday he’d notice her, and then...

“I’m going to marry a prince.” She confided to Bethany, showing her his picture. They were in Bethany’s room, sitting on her bed.

“Oh, Annie. He’s beautiful.” Bethany’s voice was reverent.

And the next moment the picture had been snatched out of her hand. 

“I’m going to marry a prince.” Carver had mimicked in a high pitched voice. “Fat chance. What kind of prince would want to marry a skinny, flat chested thing with frizzy orange hair like you? He looks like a poof anyway.” He’d held the picture up and torn it, just a little, just a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t you dare, Carver Hawke!” Anabel had warned him, and that was all it had taken. He’d promptly ripped it in half, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.

She hadn’t even hesitated, though Carver was a several inches taller than she was at this point, and far outweighed her. She’d charged straight at him, hitting him low, catching him unawares, and knocking him off balance. He’d landed on the floor like a felled tree, and she’d landed right on top of him.

They’d rolled around, lashing out wildly, knocking over furniture and a lamp, shouting and yelling while Bethany frantically begged them both to stop.

Carver’s elbow smashed into her face and something cracked. She’d felt a white hot burst of pain and gush of warm blood streaming down her face, heard Bethany scream, saw Carver’s horrified face, but her first thought was how furious Grandfather would be, Grandfather who wouldn’t even let her play tennis because of the risk of a ball hitting her in the face. 

And it was all Carver’s fault. 

He was standing there gaping at her, stammering out an apology. She ignored it and swept her leg out, knocking him to the floor. He fell sprawled out on his back and she didn’t hestitate, just swung her leg back and kicked him in the balls, as hard as she could, and apparently that was hard enough. 

Carver went white and rolling over, vomited. Annie took advantage of it and kicked him again, in the ribcage this time, not once or twice but three times. She would have kicked him again if Grandfather hadn’t appeared in the doorway. 

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?” Grandfather’s voice thundered through the room.

Bethany had curled up into the corner of her bed, sobbing and hiding her face in a pillow. Carver was face down on the floor crying, out of pain, or humiliation or fear or some combination of the three. 

Only Anabel had faced him, head held high, fists clenched, blood streaming out of her broken nose. 

She saw a momentary flash of approval in Grandfather’s eyes before he turned his head and shouted to their butler to call his private physician and get him over here immediately. 

He’d sent Carver to his room, telling him he’d deal with him shortly. Bethany had run off after her twin, daring to brave Grandfather’s displeasure to take care of him.

Grandfather had handed her a handkerchief for her nose and picked up the torn remnants of the picture of Sebastian Vael, viewing it coldly. “Are there more?” He’d asked.

She’d lifted her chin. She wasn’t about to cower or snivel the way her siblings had. “Yes, Grandfather.” 

“Show me.” 

He’d followed her to her room, watching in silence as she pried off the board at the bottom of her wardrobe and pulling out the manila folder, handed it to him.

Grandfather flipped through it, his lip curling in disgust, before he walked over to the fireplace and threw the whole thing into the flames. 

“I’m disappointed Anabel, both that you’ve wasted your time on such adolescent pursuits, and that you’ve chosen such a wastrel for your attentions. I thought you were smarter than that. Was that picture the reason for your fight with your brother?” Grandfather demanded. “Did he say something derogatory about it?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“Stupid.” He’d shouted at her. “Stupid to let fools make you lose control! I thought you well beyond such childish behavior.” 

She hadn’t said anything.

“Go wash that blood off and wait for Dr. Tobrius to arrive. I’ll send for you after I consider your punishment.”

Still not speaking she’d started to leave. 

“Anabel.”

She’d stopped immediately and turned around. “Yes, Grandfather?”

“You had your brother on the floor and incapacitated, and yet you kicked him, not once but three more times.”

“Yes, Grandfather.” She’d said. Her nose was throbbing, though the bleeding seemed to have slowed.

“Why?”

She hadn’t even blinked. “Because when your opponent has fallen you don’t give him a chance to get back up again.” She’d said, and to her surprise her grandfather had smiled, before dismissing her again. 

She’d been twelve years old at the time.

As a punishment, she’d been given a particularly brutal passage on the ‘qualities of a noble man’ by some long winded and long dead philosopher to translate. She’d had to translate it from Orlesian to Ancient Tevene and then into Antivan. 

What was worse, she’d had to deal with Grandfather’s constant reminders of her transgression, lectures on the weakness it had showed, and the implication that had she been male it wouldn’t have happened, expressed at every meal, and at every meeting, for the next several months. 

Her nose, after a rather painful adjustment by Grandfather’s personal physician, hadn’t required surgery to fix: she could only imagine what kind of punishment she would have incurred if that had been the case. 

Carver had been sent away to a boarding school in the Anderfels shortly thereafter, which honestly sounded like paradise to her. He’d gotten off far too lightly, in her opinion, and as far as she was concerned she still owed him a punishment.

She switched her files to her computer after that, encrypted and buried so deep that she was positive Grandfather wouldn’t be able to find them. Not that he didn’t try. 

It was a file she still kept to this day. Everything she could find on him, every deal, every liaison, every associate. It was titled simply “Blue”, for those astonishing eyes.

She hadn’t made an attempt to meet him. _Always make them come to you._

It had been one of her grandfather’s first lessons. 

_“But what if I don’t have anything they want?”_ She’d asked.

_“You figure out what they want and you get it. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll be able to do it before they even know they want it.”_

It had taken her years, but one day she’d turned around at a reception at the Keep and there was Nathaniel Howe and she knew she’d finally caught Sebastian Vael’s attention.

She was a little peeved that he’d sent Nathaniel instead of coming himself, and she’d nearly blown it when Nathaniel had actually developed feelings for her, but she’d ended up making both things work to her advantage.

She had what he wanted, and he’d come to her, and what he wanted was everything she had been trying to get since she’d first voiced the thought to herself when she was still just a child.

 _I’m going to marry a prince._ Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she watched his reflection.

“You don’t see many furs these days.” Sebastian commented as he poured the brandy.

“I’ve several, actually.”

“And you’ve no qualms about the ethics of wearing them?” He asked, as he came back, a glass in each hand.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him and arching an eyebrow at the question. “Qualms?” She repeated as if she’d never heard the word, and turned back to the view. “No, I’ve no qualms. Mostly I just like lying naked on them while someone makes love to me.” 

He actually tripped, and it took every bit of willpower not to laugh, though she couldn’t help a small smile. “Don’t you?” She added innocently.

She could hear the laughter in his voice when he answered. “I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.” He commented dryly. 

He had a sense of humor: more importantly he could laugh at himself. She hadn’t known that about him and her smile deepened.

That was good.

“I could probably help you out. With the pleasure I mean” She offered, turning so that the view was behind her, leaning her back against the window.

“We’ll see where the evening leads us, shall we?” He said handing her her drink. 

She took it, and he raised his glass to take a sip and she put her hand on his arm, stopping him. 

“We should have a toast.” She said when he looked down at her with a puzzled expression.

“A toast?” He repeated.

“Yes. It’s an occasion. A beginning. A toast is a wish for all of that.” She explained.

He stared at her for a minute and then gave her an indulgent smile. “Very well. A toast.” He looked away thinking for a moment and then returned his gaze to her and raised his glass. “To the Viscountess of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven: it will be an alliance the likes of which the Free Marches has never seen.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “Or is that not romantic enough for you?” 

“It’s far better than romantic.” She informed him. “It’s exciting.” 

He couldn’t help a laugh. “I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that kind of exciting. I meant _exciting_.” 

She could see the moment he realized what she was implying. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Truly?” 

She couldn’t help the shiver. “It doesn’t excite you? The thought of all that power and what we can do with it?” 

His eyes seemed to glow, and she knew he felt it too. 

He raised his glass and tapped it lightly against hers the delicate crystal ringing out like a bell in the quiet of the apartment. “To excitement.” He said simply and they both took a sip.

As soon as she had lowered her glass he took it from her hand, and set both their glasses on a nearby table. Without speaking he reached for one of her hands and raising it, unfastened the button at her wrist, before letting it fall back down to her side. He switched to the other hand repeating the action. There was nothing hurried or urgent about it. His manner was almost nonchalant: he might have been undressing a mannequin. 

She’d never been especially good with silences. “Do the rules of our game still apply?” She asked him.

He didn’t look up from what he was doing. “Truth, do you mean?” He’d unfastened the second button and his finger stroked the delicate skin of the inside of her wrist.

She couldn’t help a shiver. 

A small curve of his lips was the only sign he noticed. “Yes.” He said. “I think so. The whole evening’s going to be a proverbial moment of truth isn’t it? We might as well make it literal.” He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed it to the spot his fingers had been caressing. His lips were warm and firm. 

She let out a shaky breath, just from that.

“Your pulse is racing like a bird’s.” He murmured against her skin.

Her first instinct was to deny it, and the second to make some flippant remark. _Truth_ , she reminded herself. “I’m nervous.” She confessed with a small laugh. “I haven’t been nervous about sex since I was sixteen.” 

He seemed pleased, by the notion or by her honesty, she couldn’t have said which. “Was that your first time?” He asked.

“No. That was just when I stopped being nervous about it.”

“Who was he?” He turned her gently around so she was facing the window again and brushed her hair over one shoulder.

She struggled to keep her voice as casual as his. “My first you mean? A friend of Grandfather’s. A business associate who was showing some hesitation over a deal Grandfather wanted. I convinced him that proceeding came with its own rewards.”

Sebastian gave a small huff of laughter as he unfastened the first button of her dress. “What did your grandfather say when he found out? Or did he not know?” 

“It was his idea, actually. It made sense. It gave us the leverage we needed over him. And it was all right really. As it turned out he was quite kind, and skilled as well. He taught me quite a lot, both in and out of bed.” 

There had certainly been others she found less agreeable. She quickly brushed that thought aside and realized that Sebastian had paused with his fingers on the second button. She was about to say something when he bent his head and softly kissed the spot just below her ear. 

“Have I told you how much I like your dress?” He whispered. His breath was hot against her skin.

 _Sweet Andraste_. “No, and it’s been quite remiss of you.” She informed him lightly. 

He straightened up again, and with what seemed like deliberate slowness continued unfastening the long line of small satin covered buttons that went from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. “I like it very much, though I have to admit to being intrigued as to how it stays in place.” 

“I could tell you but it would probably easier to show you.” She said demurely. 

He was barely touching her, just the occasional brush of his fingers against her skin as the buttons slipped free of the loops, but it was taking all her concentration to pretend those brief touches weren’t affecting her.

“Perhaps I might investigate on my own?” Again his voice was perfectly calm and collected.

“Of course. Never let it be said that I was one to stand in the way of the pursuit of knowledge.” She silently cursed how breathy her voice sounded. She was starting to think she was going to blow the whole performance and she could hear the lecture her grandfather would give her if she did. Would have given her. He was gone now, she reminded herself.

Sebastian had finished with the buttons, and parting the two sides of the dress, he slid his hands in and around her waist. They were large and warm and strong and certain, and she had to bit her lip to keep from making a sound. 

“Your skin is like silk.” He murmured. “Are you this soft everywhere?” 

She was about to answer, when his hands slid to the front, and then slowly upwards, his fingertips slipping along the deep V of the neckline of her dress, between the double sided fashion tape that secured the dress in place and her skin. His pace was unhurried, gentle, even when his hands finally reached her breasts and his palms brushed lightly against her nipples, already hard just from the anticipation of that touch, and she was suddenly incapable of speech. 

He paused there cupping his hands softly around them. “A perfect handful.” He commented but there was a roughness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment before. He ran his thumbs over the sensitive tips and this time she couldn’t stop the small noise she made. 

In an instant he’d grabbed the edges of the dress and yanked hard pulling the dress off her shoulders, pulling it open, and down, and off. She thought she heard the fabric rip, but she didn’t care. He pulled her hands free of the sleeves, leaving her bare to the waist. 

She tried to turn around to face him, to touch him, but his hands returned to the bare skin of her waist holding her in place until she stilled. 

Only then did he move his hands again, bending his fingers and running his fingertips from her waist, up over her ribcage, just a teasing touch, trimmed fingernails raking against sensitive skin, along the sides of her breasts and then out to her shoulders. He raised her arms so they were stretched out straight, and continued along the length of them, just that lightest touch that set every nerve ending alight, until he reached her hands and slipped his fingers through hers, holding both arms outstretched. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest so fast and so hard that she was almost dizzy with it and she leaned her head back against him just to keep steady. She couldn’t resist glancing at the window to see what it, what they looked like, and realized that he was looking at her in the reflection, that he probably had been the whole time. Their eyes met and she shivered at the picture they made, he, still clothed, towering over her, and she bared to the waist, small, delicate, looking strangely vulnerable, held there, exposed, displayed. 

“Do you like what you see?” She asked, her voice husky.

That he had to take a moment to answer let her know he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed. “Very much.” 

He bent suddenly and swept her into his arms, carrying her a scant half dozen steps to a nearby leather armchair and sank down still holding her. The full gauzy skirt of her gown spread out covering his lap and most of the chair. With one hand around her back he shifted her up and he closed his mouth around the tip of one breast, suckling gently as his other hand came up to rest on her rib cage just below it holding her in place. 

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by sensation, every tug leaving her throbbing with need. She raised a hand groping for something to hold on to, and it landed on his neck. She slid her fingers into his hair, arching against him as he switched his mouth to her other breast, this time using his teeth, raking them against the sensitive skin, and then unexpectedly biting, not hard enough to hurt, not really, but hard enough to make her jump. 

Her eyes flew open. She looked down to find him watching her, gauging her reaction even as his tongue soothed her nipple. 

She had to lick her lips before she could speak. “Again.” She told him and heard his breath catch as he drew it in suddenly.

“Again?” He repeated, as if to be certain he’d heard her correctly.

“Again.” She whispered. “Harder.”

There was a flare of heat in his eyes and then his mouth moved slowly to her other breast, licking gently before closing his mouth around it. He sucked gently and then bit down again, slowly this time, watching her, and gradually increasing the pressure. 

Her hand tightened in his hair and she closed her eyes as he bit deeper; she wondered if he would stop or if she would have to ask him to stop because it was almost becoming too much, though she could feel the slick moisture between her thighs, soaking the tiny lace thong that she wore. 

And then he did stop, with a low laugh. “I’ve left my mark on you.” He commented, and raised his hand to trace the imprint of his teeth, that now encircled the rosy tip.

She glanced down. “It’ll fade.” She told him with a half- smile and shifted so she was sitting more upright.

Sebastian pressed a kiss between her breasts, his hand caressing the one he’d marked. “I find myself of two minds about that: I like the idea of marking you as mine, but the idea of marking something so perfect seems almost criminal. You have the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen.”

To her surprise she felt herself blushing. “I used to think they were too small. When I was a teenager I desperately wanted breast implants.”

“What stopped you?” He asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

“Grandfather didn’t believe in cosmetic surgery. He thought it was deceitful, just another way of tricking people.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” 

And suddenly so was she. 

Maker, was she so easily led by him? Did he realize it? Was her control of the situation slipping already or had it been an illusion to begin with?

Determined not to let that happen she slid from his lap and stood, and he let her, his eyes fixed on her.

Moving in front of him, she reached behind her and unfastened the few remaining buttons of her dress, letting it fall in a heap around her feet. She stepped carefully out of the circle of fabric, clad only her three inch gold sandals and the skin colored thong. 

She stood there for a moment, letting him look at her, seeing his eyes travel the length of her body, wondering if he would say something.

He leaned back, watching her, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and touching his fingertips together, but he didn’t speak.

It was still her move, apparently.

She took a step forward, insinuating herself between his legs, and with one hand on each of his thighs, still not breaking eye contact, she lowered herself slowly down to her knees and ran her hands up his legs, unhurried, reveling in the feel of the muscles beneath the fabric. She paused briefly, trying and failing to read his expression, and then let her hands continue up to the zipper of his trousers and his belt. 

There was a different kind of hardness there, one that responded to the light pressure of her palm pressing against it.

She dropped her eyes to his belt, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she unbuckled it with practiced hands. Men would do anything for a blow job, Isabela had always said that: it never failed to distract them, or to entice them, and it was the perfect way to steer negotiations in a new direction. 

She reached for his zipper, and he put his hand on her wrist, stopping her.

She looked up at him in surprise and when she saw his face she hesitated.

She’d seen different expressions when she dropped to her knees and reached for a man’s belt: eagerness, need, sometimes they looked almost fearful, but not once had someone stopped her, and not once had they been looking at her the way Sebastian Vael was looking at her right now. 

Considering, and… sympathetic? 

“No?” She asked, suddenly uncertain. A frown creased her brow. She felt as if she’d taken a wrong step somewhere, but where?

He gave her a smile so warm that it made her feel like she had melted butter in her veins. “Yes," he said. "Definitely yes, but not yet. I want us to take our time, to learn each other. There’s no rush, is there?” He cocked his head to one side.

He wasn’t at all what she had expected. “Isn’t there?” She asked and her voice sounded tentative even to her. She looked down in confusion.

All her grandfather’s lectures and lessons about closing the deal swirled through her head but she was suddenly uncertain as to whether those lessons, or Isabela's applied in this situation. She wasn’t even certain she knew what exactly this situation was any more.

Sebastian’s hand went beneath her chin, lifting it so she was forced to look at him.

“No matter what decision we reach we’ve got all night. It’s not a race or a competition. It’s an invitation. And an introduction.” He stood and held out his hands to her. She stared at them for a moment before placing her hands in his and letting him pull her to her feet. 

She felt strangely vulnerable standing there almost naked, which was ridiculous because she’d been completely at ease with her own nudity since she was a teenager. 

As if sensing her unease, Sebastian stepped close, slipping his arms around her, encircling her, and that discomfort vanished. She felt safe and secure, and Maker, that had to be a lie, because when was the last time she’d felt that way? 

“Is it as simple as that?” She asked. It couldn’t be; so much was riding on this, had been riding on it for so long.

He pulled her closer still and her hands came up automatically, to rest on his chest. “It can be if we want it to be, Ana.” 

Ana. She shook her head. Nobody called her that. Once there had been a nickname. Once someone who loved her had called her Annie.

_Annie! Where’s my girl?_

Running to the door, being swept up in Da’s arms. When life had been simple, when there’d been no games or schemes or plans. When no one had wanted anything from her but her happiness.

She found herself blinking back tears. She couldn’t think of that – wouldn’t think of that, not now, not if she had any hopes of… 

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t notice, or that if he did he wouldn’t ask why. “Kiss me.” She whispered, and he did softy, gently, but gentle wasn’t what she wanted right now. She slid her arms up around his neck, deepening the kiss, slipping her tongue between his lips, along his teeth and his tongue, reveling in the taste of him and the hint of the brandy they’d only sipped, and in the scent of him, soap and cologne and starched white cotton, and then he was kissing her back, just as fiercely, his fingers tangling in her hair, holding her still as his tongue answered hers, exploring and caressing and it was even more overwhelming than it had been in the elevator. 

She moaned into his mouth, and still kissing her, Sebastian tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her, carrying her into another room, only breaking the kiss when he lowered her to her feet again. 

And then it was he who knelt down in front of her, lifting one foot and then the other, slipping the delicate sandals from her feet. At one point she tottered, almost losing her balance and she put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

He glanced up at her with an easy smile. “Cinderella in reverse.” He teased gently as he got to his feet again.

She couldn’t help laughing. “Imagine how much more quickly the ending would have come if the prince had swept her into the nearest bedroom instead of out into the garden.” 

She looked around the room. The curtains were drawn and a lamp on the night table had been turned on, giving the room a soft glow. The decor was simpler in here; the walls a soft grayish brown, the room dominated by an ornately carved four poster bed. There were some framed photographs on the wall, black and white pictures of various Starkhaven landmarks, but none of family or friends, save for a picture in a small silver frame on a desk by the window that she recognized as Lachlan Vael, his grandfather. So the rumors that they had been close were true. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sebastian stepped closer to her, cupping her face in his hands and bending down to kiss her again, taking his time with this kiss, exploring, nibbling, moving from her mouth to her jaw. There was a tenderness to it that surprised her and she pulled back to look at him.

“I expected you to be cold somehow – not the sex,” she said with a sudden laugh. ”I was pretty certain that was going to be hot, but you. You aren’t, are you?” 

He smiled but didn’t deny it. 

He kept surprising her. Perhaps, she thought still staring at him, perhaps when one reached a certain level of power or riches one didn’t need to be cold and distant. It was certainly never a lesson she’d learned from Grandfather. Perhaps Sebastian was better at it, more confident, or perhaps it was something he’d learned when he was on his own. She shook her head. “I didn’t expect that.” She admitted.

“And I didn’t expect you to be sweet.“ He told her. He brushed a curl out of her face watching her closely.

“Is that what I am?” And she felt her throat tighten. She was never this emotional. What was he doing to her?

“Much to my surprise.” 

He sounded so certain. “Perhaps I’m acting, the part.” She suggested half hoping it was true. Sweet didn’t get you anything. Sweet left you vulnerable. Sweet meant you could be hurt: she’d learned that within days of coming to Kirkwall.

“That was my first thought, but no,” His hands slid around her, stroking along the satiny skin of her back, moving down to her waist and past resting them just at the gentle swell of her hips. “I don’t think you are. I think there’s some part of you that your grandfather couldn’t shape. Some part of the little girl you were before.” 

_Where’s my girl?_

She swallowed hard and reached out blindly, finding his shirt front and slipping the silver studs from his tuxedo shirt, dropping them into the hand he held out, barely noticing him slipping them into his trouser pocket, as she pulled the shirt out of his trousers and ran her hands over his chest. It was firm, muscled, but not excessively so. He swam for exercise, she knew that from her research: he swam, and rode horses when he was in the country, and played polo occasionally, but it was the swimming that gave him this physique, the broad shoulders, and slim torso. _Beautiful_ , she thought, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her hands, letting that sensation push the memories he'd summoned back. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his chest, breathing in the scent of him, raking her finger through his chest hair, only dimly noticing that he'd slipped his arms free of the sleeves and let the shirt fall to the floor.The most beautiful man she'd ever seen, just as she'd thought when she was a child. She moved her mouth to his nipple, and licked gently, gauging his reaction: some men liked that, some were too sensitive to find it pleasurable. 

Sebastian shivered and his hand went up to slide into her hair keeping her there.

She smiled against his chest. He apparently liked it, and with that knowledge she felt her confidence return. She closed her mouth around his nipple, alternating between sucking and gently flicking her tongue against it and his hand tightened in her hair. 

And then she bit down, much as he had done to her earlier, and as she had done he flinched and tried to pull away but she didn’t let go, not until he wound her hair around his hand and yanked back hard.

His nostrils were flared as he stared down at her. He looked shocked. 

For a moment they just stared at each other, both of them breathing hard.

Apparently biting princes wasn’t something that happened very often. A teasing smile curved her lips. For the first time since that kiss in the elevator she felt as if she might be regaining her footing. “I’ve left my mark on you.” She said breathlessly, echoing his earlier words.

He looked down at his and saw the small perfect set of teeth marks she’d left on his chest. 

For a moment she thought he might be angry and then the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were trying not to laugh, and before she realized his intention, he’d picked her up, tossed her on the bed and climbed up after her, covering his body with her own, catching hold of her wrists and trapping them on either side of her head. 

Apparently the introduction portion of the evening was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chapter passed 8000 words I made the decision to split it into two.
> 
> Honestly it wasn't just to torture people by putting the actual sex into the next chapter.


End file.
